


One of the Damned

by Femmetac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femmetac/pseuds/Femmetac
Summary: A twist on "Ladies Drink Free"





	

One of the Damned

Mick Davies had spent his life in service to defeating the darkest beings out there. Granted, a good bit of it was down to research, but that was neither here nor there. Yet with the Winchester mission foisted upon him, here he sat out in the field. His hands were soiled, his features grim as he faced down the young girl he'd been left alone with, trying desperately to tamp down the terror at the thought that she could change at any minute there in front of him and rip his hammering heart straight out of his chest. Perspiration trickled down the back of his neck and he wondered dimly if she could smell the fear on him. Wondered if it added a little kick to the hunger she probably felt growing.

Claire Novak paced miserably before him, whimpering every so often and punctuating that fearful statement with the occasional sniffle. This little doe-eyed waif could very well be his end, he thought grimly, his shoulder aching like a cross bitch. He had a mind to change the dressing, but to do that he had to make sure she didn't transition and come at him while his defenses were down.

He pulled out the leather restraints and she eyed them apprehensively. "I would request that you put these on," he said tentatively. "For my protection and yours."

Tearfully, she nodded. Words failed. Claire chewed her lip pensively as he strapped the lashings to her, binding her to a chair. "I don't want to hurt anybody," she said at last, her throat constricting with tears.

"I know," he said simply. "We'll see that you don't."

Mick stepped grimly into the small bath and made quick work of unfastening the buttons, sliding his shirt off and grimacing slightly at the deep gashes on his shoulder. They needed stitches in a lot places, but that would have to wait. It stung more sharply just over the crest of his shoulder and he grabbed a hand mirror sitting beside the sink so that he could get a good look at it from behind. Turning around and tilting his head slightly, he angled the mirror in order to see the top and back of his shoulder. What he saw had his hand trembling, a new fear mingling with the old. He didn't remember the girl biting him, but indeed she must have nipped him in the struggle before he jabbed the needle through her heart. The truth was there before him and the mirror dropped as the implications sunk in.

The shatter of glass had Claire's head whipping around in the direction of the bathroom. The tears that had been threatening flowed freely now as she sat alone tied to a chair. No one in the room for her to put on a brave face for, and as the minutes ticked by there was no bravado to be found anyhow. Her punchy attitude was in tatters at the mortifying thought of harming those she held dear, being so out of control that she would tear out and devour the hearts of her adopted family. As she sat crying over the horrifying thoughts, a searing pain wracked through her belly and set her clenching her gut and writhing in the seat. Mick heard the muffled shriek through the door and turned to grab the door handle, only to see his nails sharpen and grow perceptibly. A split second later he collapsed to the floor as his whole being felt shooting pain jolt through his abdomen and steal his breath with the intensity.

In the back of his mind he realized that in the next room, she was changing. They were changing. Dear god, was his last coherent thought, what now?

* * *

Claire blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes to focus and felt the hunger overtake her. She started wriggling, struggling against her restraints as she heard a feral growl from the next room. Her ears perked, nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent from there as well. Male. The musky scent assaulted her senses and she whimpered again as a new need overtook her. She wriggled harder now, the need to mate nearly as strong as the need to feed. The twin hungers ignited in her as she listened to the scraping and scampering from the other room.

Just then a crash at the door alerted her to new scents and the larger presence of the first blood coming. A second crash and he was through the door. The same guy from the bar. On some dim, distant level she recognized this and even though her body answered the dominant male before her, she recoiled inwardly. A possessive growl from him had the hackles raising on the back of her neck. He stalked over to her and her instincts had her cowling subsmissively in her seat, a low keening whimper in the back of her throat. She preferred the smell of the other to the tang of menace that mingled in the air from this one. The scufflings in the next room had stopped. She noticed that the door was slightly ajar and as the interloper angled his head toward the bathroom, she acted to divert his attention.

Claire erupted with an ululant howl and wiggled in her seat as coquettishly as she could. She arched her neck, exposing it and thrusting her chest out provocatively. It worked. As the first born shifted his attention back to her, a wolfed out Mick launched across the back of the sofa and tackled the other werewolf. They scrambled around on the floor, a flash of claws and sinew. One kick from either of the two sent her slamming to the floor on her side, a loud crack as the chair rended itself. The seat back had separated from its base and she wriggled free, climbing over to help Mick. She grasped a clawed hand at the first born's hair and nipped hard at his back, the shock of her assault jolted him and he arched for a second—just long enough for Mick to go for his carotid. Strong as he was, he was no match for the two of them. He stilled as the blood pumped free of his body. Within moments, he would be done.

Mick and Claire eyed each other over the prone body of the other werewolf for a long moment before both Winchesters came crashing in, guns raised.

"Holy—" Dean started, just as Mick launched at him, Claire darting behind her alpha quickly. A quick shot in the foot with the silver bullet from his gun and Mick dropped writhing and howling to the floor. Claire leaped across him to tackle Dean and Sam grabbed her by the waist, hauling her up as Dean scrambled for the restraints again. Between the two of them, they got her wrists tied off before turning their attentions to Mick. He was in no shape to defend himself with a bullet wound, and the boys made short work of restraining him as well.

They dosed up Claire first, then Mick, following the procedure he had described on curing werewolves, and hoped against hope that Mick's ratios were wrong.

Within minutes, Claire and Mick both started seizing, sweating profusely and vomiting, foaming at the mouth. Both Winchesters watched grim-faced, Sam's brow furrowed as Dean paced back and forth in front of Claire still lashed to another chair.

Twenty minutes later Claire's head dropped limp on her chest. Mick lay on his side, still. "Dean," Sam said urgently, the sharp fear of losing her had him dropping to his knees before her even as Dean put two fingers to Mick's pulse. It was weak, it was shallow, but it was there. Sam held a hank of hair up from Claire's face. "Claire?" he said softly.

"Sam." Her one syllable, at a breathless whisper was all he needed to hear. Beside her Mick curled weakly into a ball. "Gah! Bloody, sodding, wanking Winchesters," he snarked weakly. "What took so damned long to get back here, eh?"

Both boys snuffed a relieved laugh and Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, we got here didn't we?"

Mick rolled over slowly groaning aloud, looking a right and soddy mess. "Feck off." He lay in the floor, panting slightly and looked at Claire. She raised her head and met his eyes, casting them away as soon as she realized he was looking back at her. "Are you alright there, Claire?" he said hesistantly.

"Fine," she said softly and eyed the boys apologetically. "Guess I really made a mess of things here didn't I?"

"You're not the only one," Mick said grudgingly. "I suppose I owe everyone here an apology. If it weren't for my cock-up, none of this would have happened." He righted himself and came up kneeling before her, taking her chin in his thumb and forefinger he turned her face to his. She shuddered once, in what he thought was fear. "I am so sorry, Claire." Those doe eyes met his again, and he knew in that moment that he was forever in her debt. He would do what he had to in order to make it right, or he'd be damned.


End file.
